Rain On Me
by LizzehBoo
Summary: Sam, do you know what time it is?” There was a long moment as she gave out a frustrated sigh. “L-look, come downstairs and let me in, okay?" Seddie.


**Rain on Me**

**(Author's Note: I've been going through some emotional stuff lately, so I cranked out this eleven-page monster one-shot to get a little angst out of my system. It always helps. Enjoy!)**

**...**

_Baby, it's three A.M., I must be lonely._

_I can't help but be scared of it all sometimes…_

His hand flew over to his bedside table, feeling around for the source of noise, as a groan escaped his lips. _What time is it?_ His fingers clasped around his cell phone, pulling it slowly before his eyes to answer his question. It was still ringing and buzzing against his hand. _Three o' clock? Who's calling me at three o' clock?_ He hit the talk button and pressed it to his ear, half-whispering a hello as he rolled over on his side.

"Where's Carly?"

He blinked a bit, still bleary, but recognizing the voice. "I… I think she's visiting her Grandad. Wh-why? Sam, do you know what time it is?"

There was a long moment as she gave out a frustrated sigh. "L-look, come downstairs and let me in, okay?"

"W-wait a second. You're _here?_ Sam, it's three in the morning!"

"Let me in, Freddork. Is there really any reason to argue about this? Just hurry up. It's cold out here." She promptly hung up.

Freddie sat up, rubbing his eyes as a crack of thunder rolled across the sky. He coughed slightly out of sleepiness, pushed his feet into his slippers and dragged himself down the stairs. He scratched absently at his side on his way to the door, then slowly opened in, still blinking away sleep from his eyes. He couldn't understand why she needed to be let in – usually she just waltzed in or broke in. But lo and behold, she was standing on the stoop outside, soaked, her shaggy blonde hair hanging in her face and her arms crossed across her chest. She had a duffel bag thrown over her shoulder, and a hood yanked over her head, pushing that hair further into her eyes. Freddie looked her up and down, confused.

"What—"

Sam pushed past him and headed for the stairs without a word. Freddie whirled around, waking up somewhat.

"Woah, hey! Aren't you going to tell me why you woke me up at this hour?"

"To let me inside," she answered curtly and harshly. "I'm going up to Carly's."

"Sam, she's not even here. She and Spencer left two days ago, remember?" Freddie trailed after her quickly back up the stairs. "Why are you here? What are you doing? Hey, are you going to say anything?"

She was already trying to pick the lock by the time he reached Carly's door – but she was having trouble as her hands were shaking rather violently. Freddie, frustrated, finally grabbed Sam's wrist and forced her to look at him. When he caught sight of her face in the light, his face fell.

"Oh, my God."

The large black bruise on Sam's jaw stood out against her pale skin and her red, cracked lips. Her eyes were glassy and wide as they looked upon him with a look halfway between fear and gut-wrenching anger. Her hands were still shaking, and when she spoke, he could hear it in her voice:

"Look, I just need to get inside and get some sleep, okay?"

Freddie was almost at a loss for words. "I—what—_happened_ to you?" Sure, a bruise wasn't much for some people – if Sam Puckett was bruised, something major went down.

"It's nothing, okay?" She ripped her arm away from him. "None of your business. Just… just go back to bed, okay? I'll be out tomorrow."

She quickly turned around and tried to pick the lock once again, but the shaking in her hands was still just as strong. Freddie sighed heavily, reached under the mat and produced a key. Sam stared.

"There's a spare?"

"My mom's supposed to water their plants and stuff. So Spencer left a key under the mat." He unlocked the door and let it swing open.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Sam finally broke it with a soft, "Thanks."

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Freddie pressed, pushing after her through Carly's door and closing it behind him. "Sam, come on. You owe me an explanation. You woke me up at this freaking hour."

Sam pulled the hood off of her head, letting a mess of matted curls spill down her back. She raked her dirty fingernails through them, her fingers getting stuck at particularly bad tangles, before frustratingly letting them wave in the air and fly back down to her sides.

"I don't really want to talk about it."

Freddie felt his eyebrows arch, concern welling in his stomach. He and Sam didn't get along all the time, but he didn't want to think something horrible had happened to her – at least, not at the moment. "I know. But…"

He paused and looked her up and down again. "You're soaked to the bone."

"Yeah, I'm aware. I'm shivering. Stupid." She turned away, rubbing her arms absently, chilly.

"Well go get dried off. Wear some of Carly's clothes."

Sam grew quiet again for quite a long time. "…I brought my own."

Her duffel bag fell to the floor as if to accent her words. Freddie gazed at it like it had sprouted from the floor. The situation dawned on him like sunlight.

"…You ran away from home, didn't you?"

Sam supplied half a chuckle that sounded almost like a sob. "N-no. I just needed to get out of there for a couple of days. Mom's new boyfriend… he's just… he's not a cool dude. I needed a break."

Freddie felt rage well in his gut. "Did he hit you?"

She ran her hands down her face. "Quell the testosterone, okay? I hit him back. Knocked him flat. Delivered a swift kick to his—"

"I get it," Freddie said. "But… why did he… are you okay?"

"Fredward, let it go. I'm just gonna spend the night here. I needed to get out of the apartment for awhile."

She was still shaking. Freddie was fairly sure it had nothing to do with her being cold. He sighed.

"Go put on some warm clothes. I'll make some hot chocolate."

Sam made a face, but reluctantly grabbed her bag and headed up the stairs. Freddie ran a hand through his hair, letting it slip back to his forehead. Well, it certainly wasn't what he expected to start out the day. And being in Carly's home without her or Spencer being there felt weird and wrong and devilish, and he knew that if Carly had been in his home without him or his mother there, she'd be panicking. He knew, deep down, that Spencer nor Carly would be particularly upset with him or Sam being there, but he hated doing things without their knowledge. It had been engrained in him by his mother.

Still, as he fished the large mugs from the cabinet and began to heat up the milk, he knew he couldn't leave Sam alone – much as she wanted him to. He knew Samantha Puckett well enough to know if she was trembling and bruised, something horrifying went down. Not just anyone could lay a hand on her. He began mixing the chocolate with the milk when Sam tromped back down the stairs, looking a bit less like a wet dog. She had the sopping hair yanked back in a ponytail – making her appearance closer to that of Melanie's – if she was real, of course. Her black jeans hung over her feet slightly, and her gray hoodie contrasted the Melanie-vibe. Freddie handed her a mug.

"Drink up. You're still shivering."

She stared at the liquid in the mug as if it would just hop out of it and quench her thirst on it's own, before quietly taking a sip.

Freddie was certain of it. Something bad had happened. Finding out was an entirely different issue, however.

"You okay?" he asked after a few minutes of standing in the kitchen, sipping cocoa.

"Stop asking."

"No!" Freddie argued. "You're acting weird."

"_You're_ acting weird. Why do you care anyway?" Sam plopped down on the couch, and at that moment, it seemed to be swallowing her up, hiding her away, and she looked so very tiny.

She never looked tiny, even for a petite girl. In fact, Freddie had always seen her as this brawny, powerful, human being with the power to knock down buildings and melt people's faces and whatnot. She was tough as nails. Seeing her like this was a little jarring, and the logical half of his brain was wracking itself trying to figure it out.

"You're my friend."

"Yeah, and when I put frozen yogurt down your pants the other day, I'm really sure you were thinking of me as a _friend_."

Freddie bristled. He would have preferred to forget that particularly chilling experience. "Come on, Sam. I do care, you know. I'm not heartless."

Sam looked into her hot chocolate mug, and he could almost hear her voice in his head. _I am. You're not heartless, but I am._ "And neither are you," he tacked on the end.

Her head popped up, bright eyes focusing directly on him, as if to threaten him to get out of her brain before she mentally made him explode.

He wouldn't have put the ability past her.

He kept the eye-contact, knowing that she needed to respond to get anywhere. So he waited. A long minute rolled by before she finally let out a hefty sigh and turned away again, burrowing a little further back into the couch cushions.

"You're not gonna let up, are you?"

"I think I have a right to know. I mean, it's not every day I get woken up at three in the morning to break a bruised, soaked, friend into Carly's apartment. I mean, come on. You're… like…" He couldn't find the words. "How could anybody get a hit in on you?"

A flicker of a smile slipped over her lips before dying as fast as it came. "It's not that likely, is it?"

"No. You get a good body slam on me about once a week-"

"Every two days."

"Once every two days." He stood corrected. Then, a little flustered, he plopped down next to her. "Please tell me what happened so I can sleep tonight."

"You'll sleep just fine. You don't have to have me dump all my problems on you to do that." She reached for the remote and flipped the television on. Of course, with the early hour of the morning, the TV simply blared infomercials for creepy products – like male enhancement pills and _Girls Gone Wild_ DVD's. Freddie made a face as one particularly drunk girl yanked her shirt up to be censored by _Only $9.99!_ signs.

"Ew," he moaned. "Change the channel."

"It's on every channel at this hour."

"And you're going to watching it?"

"I like the background noise."

"Yeah, a girl drunk off her face writhing and squealing – great background noise." Freddie rolled his eyes.

"Are you sure you're a boy?"

Freddie pouted. "Yes, I'm sure. Just because I'm a gentleman doesn't mean I'm not-"

"Blah, blah, _blaaaah_," Sam groaned over him. "Whatever." She placed her now close to empty mug on the coffee table; then pulled her knees up to her chest.

Freddie got a good look at her feet, which were actually rather dainty considering who they belonged to. Carly had apparently painted Sam's toes at one point too – the cerulean nail polish was cracking off the ends of the nails. His eyes traced her outline up to her face, blankly staring at the television set. It was rather disturbing, seeing her that way. Sam had always been so energetic – whether she was screaming at the top of her lungs or laughing or whatever – she'd always _felt_ so strongly about everything. At that moment, she had shut down. Her face was completely expressionless, devoid of anything that would make her appear vulnerable.

And she was at that moment – no matter how hard she was trying to hide it.

"Sam?"

She acknowledged him with a snort.

"Did you forget that Carly left?"

"Yeah, I guess I did," she replied quietly. "Kinda lost my head for a minute there. I wish she was here."

Freddie swallowed. "Yeah, I imagine she could handle this a lot better than I can."

"There's nothing for you to handle-"

"There's nothing that you _want_ me to handle. Come on, Sam. You didn't just come here to get out of the rain. You needed someone to talk to. I know you and Carly are best friends, and I also know we're not particularly nice to each other, but level with me here. You need to talk to someone about this, and I'm right here, willing to listen."

"…When did you get all… snippy with me, anyway? I don't remember you ever fighting back this much."

"Testosterone fluctuations or something," Freddie sighed. She was very good at changing the subject.

Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the room with a flash of white light before everything shut down. He power went out. Thunder accentuated it with a boom. Both of them jumped.

"Crap," she growled.

Silence dragged on, accompanied only by the patter of rain on the windows and the occasional roll of thunder.

"I never realized how dark this place gets without power," Freddie tried after a few minutes.

Sam didn't respond.

"Sam?"

Still nothing. _She didn't get up and leave did she? That'd be cruel._

He reached out in the darkness, his hand brushing across her cheek. She gasped and he felt her pull away from him.

"You're still there, at least." He looked down at his hand, then remembered he couldn't see anything.

"Don't touch me. I don't want your… well, whatever it is you have."

"Don't talk about me like I'm diseased. I'm not the one who eats bacon flavored ice cream."

"It's delicious."

"I'll take your word for it." He had begun to notice a distinct change in her voice in the darkness. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't believe you."

Lightning filled the room again, and in the flash, he caught sight of her face – coldly lit with the fluorescent light, her eyes wide with an odd sort of shock. Her lips were pulled thin by her jaw, tightened and strong, but the tears rolling down her face destroyed any tough image she was trying to convey. The bruise on her face stood out with stark contrast to the halo she emitted with her light skin and hair. Freddie could only wonder what his face looked like in that moment. He watched hers contort into an ugly, devastated look, before she dipped her head, hiding before the light finally dissipated into darkness again.

He couldn't believe what he had seen in just a couple of seconds.

"Sam? Are you okay? Hey," he reached out for her again.

"Just go _home_, Fredward, okay?" Her voice was strained.

"I can't see anything, and you'd be stupid to think I'd leave you like this!"

"Why do you have to be such a goody-goody, anyway? Be mean to me! This is your ultimate opportunity to get me back for all the crap I pull on you, and you're going to take the _high road?!"_ Sam's voice was starting to crack in various pitches.

"Sam—"

"Just get out of here. I don't want to talk, okay?"

"Fine, fine. We won't talk. We don't have to talk. But I'm not leaving."

"Why won't you just leave me _alone?!_"

"Because I'm your _friend_, Sam. I like you. I know you like me too."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not. I swear on my mother's grave."

"Fine, stay. Who cares?" Sam hissed.

Lightning broke the dark once again and she looked crossed somewhere between contempt and desperation. Freddie arched his eyebrows, trying not to look too concerned – she would hate that. Pity wasn't a word she approved of.

"If you… you know… need to hit something. You can hit me." The light died down.

He didn't actually expect her to punch him (which surprised him), but she did – hard, right in the arm. He wailed in pain, gripping the arm as if she'd sawed it off.

"Ow!"

"You told me I could." Her voice was still far from stable.

"I… yeah, I did." He gave a half chuckle. "Do you have radar or something? You hit me in pitch blackness."

"Yeah," she said. He wasn't sure if she was kidding or not.

The lights flickered; then came back on. The TV was playing an old sitcom, and the volume of it seemed to roar in his ears after the long silence. Sam was staring at him, a couple of tears still rolling lazily down her cheeks. He still gripped his arm, but he couldn't really feel the pain pulsing there anymore. He was fairly sure it didn't begin to compare to what she was feeling at the moment.

"You wanna hit me again?" he asked hesitantly.

She seemed to contemplate it; then stood up, shaking her head. "No."

Her knees looked a little weak under the small amount of weight she carried, but she still managed to stay on her feet. Freddie was at a loss of what to do. That was how Sam got her feelings out – she hit things (well, mainly him), broke things, screamed, yelled, pulled hair and broke bones. She didn't retreat into herself. She didn't hide. She didn't _cry._ But here she was, doing that exact thing. It was jarring.

Freddie finally stood, putting his hands in the pockets of his pajama bottoms, trying to be a little more casual in the hopes of easing the tension in the room. He was actually fairly surprised she hadn't killed him after what he'd seen.

"You need anything then? We can go up to the studio and goof off if you want."

"It's not the same without Carly. Mainly because you're not funny."

He gave her a half smile. He would never admit she had a point, though.

He stared at the back of her head, waiting for something, anything to happen. He had nothing left in his arsenal. He was out of ideas.

"My mom's an idiot sometimes, you know."

"She picked you up at school after having laser-eye surgery. I'm aware."

"She just never knows what's good for her." Sam ran her hands down her face. "It's like she goes out looking for convicts and alcoholics and stuff."

Freddie didn't want to mention it was because her mother had something in common with those men.

"But this guy… this guy was the last straw. I can't go home if he's there. If my mom wants to get beat up by guys, fine. But I'm not going to allow it to happen to me." She sighed. "Left him crying on the kitchen floor. Bet he won't be there in the morning."

"You can't possibly mean you don't care what happens to your mom."

"_Well she doesn't care what happens to me_!" Sam whirled on him with the words before she could stop them.

Freddie felt sympathy coarse through his veins, burning in his chest.

"When has she ever called asking where I'm at? When has she ever congratulated me on the success on iCarly? When has she ever thought of anyone but… herself?! Melanie got out with her grades and whatever, but I'm still there, and I have to put up with all the crap!"Sam was rambling at this point, pacing back and forth, ringing her hands through her hair. "Melanie could handle it pretty good on her own, or with me, but me?... Alone… I don't know… I just can't put up with it. I just can't. I just want to leave. I don't want to be there. I _hate_ it there!"

Her lip quivered and she turned away from him again, trembling with a mixture of rage and sorrow. Freddie took a step forward. Sam didn't want to hit him. She needed a different outlet for something like this. This wasn't rage. It was fear. It was grief. She didn't need a punching bag.

"Hey. Hey, come here," he said, clasping a hand on her shoulder.

She turned slowly, as if expecting a cruel remark. Freddie pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, as if he could envelop her and hide her from the world that caused her to be so angry. She stood still for quite some time before shaking, oddly tiny hands slid up his shirt and gripped the fabric in their strong grips. Her forehead pressed hard against him. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried.

_Really_ cried.

Her body jolted every few minutes with a particularly hard sob, her breath wracking her, and the front of his shirt taking the brunt of tears that she'd been holding back for God knew how long. He bowed his head, burying his nose in her hair. It smelled dirty, but he didn't care. The scent was her own, after all. He always caught a whiff of fat cakes on her too.

"It's gonna be okay," he said softly, as if the words would help. No words really could.

And he knew, as she stood there, sobbing into his chest, that Sam _felt_ every emotion to its strongest form. In a way, he was jealous of that. To feel ultimately happy with little things in life meant complete bliss at minor moments. But moments like this…

_Well, I guess that's why she's so happy when she's with Carly._ He wasn't so sure about him. She definitely felt passionately about him – he just wasn't sure what emotion she'd placed with him yet. He wasn't sure how he felt about her either.

She calmed after a long while, but didn't move right away. She seemed not to mind being hidden at the moment either. No one saw this side of Samantha Puckett. Freddie wondered vaguely if she'd ever expressed these feelings to Carly, but knew he'd never get the nerve to ask. It alarmed him how pent up it seemed to be. He loosened his grip on her, suddenly aware of how tightly he'd clung to her, allowing her to step away from him, and look up at him exhaustedly.

"Don't tell anyone about this… or I'll kill you."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know." He reached up and wipe a few remaining tears from her face subconsciously, still marveling at how soft it was considering her typically rough exterior.

Then again, he'd just come to know how very fragile that exoskeleton could be.

She sniffed a bit rudely, her eyes still a bit wet. "I'm… sorry, I guess. Y'know. Things… they just…"

"Build up," Freddie finished. "Yeah, I know. It's okay. Really."

She nodded softly. "I… need some sleep."

"Yeah, me too."

They stood there awkwardly for a pause, before Freddie finally reached out and clasped his hand around hers. "Come on, I'll walk you upstairs."

She actually didn't argue. He wasn't sure if it was because she cared or if she was too tired to even bother. Either way, as they ascended each step, he squeezed her hand for support.

He even thought she squeezed back a couple of times. So he walked her up to Carly's room, where the futon was already made up – Sam was expected all the time, after all.

"You gonna be alright?" he asked; then made a face. "Oh! You told me to stop asking that."

"It's okay," she said tiredly. "…And yeah."

"Well… goodnight, then," Freddie said, releasing her hand, having his feel suddenly very cold.

"Yeah. Goodnight…"

Freddie turned to leave.

"Hey."

He turned back. "Yeah?"

"Do you… want to get some breakfast in the morning?"

He grinned despite himself. "You want me to buy you some breakfast."

"Yeah."

He pretended to contemplate it. "Yeah. Sure. Just knock on the door. We'll go when we're both awake."

She nodded a little vaguely. "…Yeah. Yeah, okay."

They looked down at the floor. He sighed heavily again. "Um… goodnight. Again."

"Goodnight…."

He stepped out of the doorway and headed down the stairs, exhaustion hanging on him and weighing him down suddenly. Why did he feel like _he'd_ gone through emotional stress? He ran a hand down the front of his shirt, some spots still a bit damp, and couldn't help but wish to any God or power out there that Sam's homelife could be a little better.

But at least he knew that when Carly wasn't in the picture, Sam wasn't alone to deal with it.

Or at least, he wouldn't let that happen.


End file.
